


Every Part of You

by mdr_24601



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: District 4 (Hunger Games), Eating Disorders, F/M, Finnick Odair-centric, Forced Prostitution, Self-Esteem Issues, The Capitol (Hunger Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdr_24601/pseuds/mdr_24601
Summary: “Annie.” The next words spill out of him like water, before he can stop them. “Would you still love me if I wasn’t beautiful?”She looks at him a long moment, then says, “I would love you if you were the ugliest man in the world.”In which Finnick struggles with the responsibilities of being a victor, and Annie loves him when he can't love himself.
Relationships: Annie Cresta & Mags & Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason & Finnick Odair
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Every Part of You

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for eating disorders and self-esteem issues. Please be careful if that might trigger you. <3

Finnick isn’t sure when it began. It’s hard to tell because it wasn’t a sudden flood, more like a gradual trickle that started slow and hasn’t stopped since. 

Perhaps it began when his job in the Capitol did. He had only been sixteen, and the first year hurt so badly, it’s a wonder that he even lived to see twenty. Not that he has any choice in the matter; whether he lives or dies, that is. The president would surely be angry if his favorite ~~toy~~ victor were to die. That wouldn’t make for good publicity.

So, Finnick supposes that it’s one night of eating too much at dinner then running an extra mile. Eating something not on his diet plan and doing more push-ups to compensate. It’s his job to be beautiful, after all. 

He knows very well what happens when he fails at his job. 

The problem is, though, is that it isn't some construct he's made up in his head and continues to obsess over. The threat is real. It's real in every rose he sees, every time the television flickers on to show the Capitol seal. Every time he receives another letter, telling him that he has to go back, because they just can't get enough of him. 

The edges around his cookie have been nibbled on slightly, just enough that Mags and Annie wouldn’t worry. If he had to pick what he hated most about his Capitol job, it would be hurting the two most important people in his life. Sure, cookies aren’t on his dietary plan provided to him by his stylist so he stayed in shape. But they don’t need to know that. “I’ll be right back,” he says, standing up and kissing the top of Annie’s head on his way out. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

They watch him silently, and Finnick doesn’t turn back around to see their concerned eyes. 

Dinner that night had been fish and vegetables, which hadn’t been an issue at the time. His dietary plan restricted many foods, but fish and vegetables aren’t one of them. It’s the bread and the cookies that he isn’t supposed to be eating. 

_It would be such a tragedy if the great Finnick Odair let himself go._

Finnick repressed a flinch at the voice that sounded suspiciously like President Snow. He has expectations to meet, rules to follow. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he forgot them, he knows that much. Even if it made Annie’s eyes sad. 

Better sad than dead. 

Promptly dismissing the thought, he contemplates throwing it back up. He scraps that idea quickly because what’s the point of toned muscles if his enamel is destroyed? 

Time is indefinite as he stands at the bathroom counter, staring into the mirror. A soft knock at the door alerts him to another presence, and Annie walks in. 

“Hi,” she says, voice soft. “You’ve been in here a while. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he replies, although he can’t even convince himself.

A slight frown tugs at her lips but she says nothing, only outstretches her hand and leads him back to the kitchen. Mags greets him with a smile and he sits back down at the table. Finnick smiles and pretends like nothing happened. 

They don’t talk about these things.

* * *

The room is silent save for the rhythmic thumping of his feet on the treadmill, a consistent beat that pounds in his ears. All houses in Victors’ Village are equipped with a workout room, but Finnick suspects he’s the only one in Four who uses his.

He only has a mile left before he can stop. One mile is hardly a challenge, but his lungs are burning with exertion and his legs feel as though they might fall off if he takes another step. But he thinks of the cupcake he ate for dessert that night and hot shame burns in his chest like fire. 

He keeps going. 

The mile ends with Finnick nearly gulping for air. Perhaps he pushed himself too hard, but it’s justified. 

_You’re special, Finnick. Talented, beautiful. Don’t let that go to waste._

The voice makes his blood run cold and he finds himself wishing for Annie and her warmth, but he can’t get back into bed with how sweaty he is. Annie shouldn’t be up for another few hours; if he showers quickly, maybe he can get a few hours of rest in.

The shower is the quickest he’s ever taken in his life but it’s worth it when he reaches their bedroom. Annie is sitting on the side of the bed, her eyes glassy.

“What are you doing up?” he asks her softly. She frowns. 

“Where did you go?” She doesn’t soften her voice, and Finnick winces at the sudden interruption of the night’s stillness. 

“I was just—” For whatever reason, the words don’t want to come. “I was just running.”

Something in Annie softens and she looks at him with those sad eyes again. “You know I love you, right?”

Finnick nods and joins her on the bed. It’s another moment before he says, “Annie.” The next words spill out of him like water, before he can stop them. “Would you still love me if I wasn’t beautiful?”

She looks at him a long moment, then says, “I would love you if you were the ugliest man in the world.”

He chokes on something, either a sob or a laugh. He doesn’t have trouble with words when he’s with his clients in the Capitol, whispering sweet nothings into their ears. But Annie isn’t one of his clients, never will be. She’s not like them at all. 

“Some people don’t see it that way,” he mutters quietly. “And it’s my responsibility to keep them happy, or...bad things happen.”

“Bad things are already happening. We live in a world of bad things, Finnick.”

“Worse than what’s already happening,” he corrects himself. 

When it comes to Snow, the possibilities are endless. He can kill Annie or Mags, which is enough to break him. Or raise fish quotas, lower wages, employ harsher Peacekeepers. He has enough blood on his hands already. 

“Finnick,” Annie says slowly, grabbing his attention. “I need you to understand that you have worth outside of what you look like.”

His eyes fill with tears that he doesn’t expect. “Doesn’t matter. When I’m there, everything else just goes away.”

She leans her head on his shoulder. “You’re not there right now.”

His fingers find their way to her hair, and he strokes gently. Slow and methodical, and Annie leans in to his touch. 

“You’re right here with me,” she says. 

For the first time, Finnick believes her. 

* * *

They have pancakes for breakfast, and Finnick eats one, and then another. They have gooey chocolate on the inside that makes his mouth water. He reaches for the syrup. 

_Oh, that’ll be another mile._

The voice sounds condescending, borderline sympathetic, even. Finnick’s hand stills midair as he debates whether he should eat the syrup or not. It isn’t too late to back out now. Annie gives him an encouraging smile from across the table. Her feet nudge his gently. 

“You’re home,” the gesture says, “it’s okay.”

He pours the syrup carefully, only adding a little. The thought of exercise makes his stomach churn and he’s not sure a few pancakes are worth the guilt. But seeing him eat properly makes Annie smile so wide, and he doesn’t want to begrudge her that happiness, so he does it anyway. 

Mags squeezes his hand reassuringly. No words are needed.

* * *

As always, when he goes to the Capitol, any progress he’s made evaporates. It’s easy, when he’s surrounded by people who expect so much from him, to count the calories and adjust his workouts accordingly. Not only is it expected of him, but it’s encouraged. They want Finnick Odair to be beautiful, muscular, strong. The human embodiment of perfection. 

He hates how easy it is to give that to them.

The role has become something like second nature. Slipping back into his Capitol persona feels as natural as holding a trident, and it disgusts him. Maybe Annie was wrong. Maybe he doesn’t have worth outside of what he looks like. In the Capitol, it seems, what he looks like is all that matters. But there are plenty of things in the Capitol that aren’t real. 

These days, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what's not. 

“Mr. Odair.”

Finnick’s shoulders tense. He’s not imagining the voice, this time. President Snow stands right behind him, and all he has to do is turn around. A beat of tense silence passes, and he turns. 

“President Snow,” Finnick greets, paying special attention to keeping his voice steady. They’re at the final party of the Victory Tour, and Finnick knows he has a client tonight around here somewhere, only he doesn’t know who it is. 

“You’re looking well,” the president says, observing him intently. Finnick nearly shrinks under the scrutiny. 

Still, the words mean more than he can say. It’s approval, and relief floods through him. He’s doing it right. Mags and Annie and District Four are safe. “Thank you,” he says, and he thinks he really means it. 

A grotesque smile stretches across Snow’s lips. “How is everything back home? How is Annie?”

“Good.” Finnick’s fingers curl tighter around his drink until his knuckles whiten. “Annie’s fine.”

President Snow nods casually. “That’s good to hear. I’m sure you’re looking to get back to the party, so I’ll leave you to it.”

The conversation was so brief, such shallow small talk that any passerby would think nothing of it. But Finnick knows it achieved its purpose. His knees feel shaky and he steps onto the balcony outside, inhaling the crisp night air. 

“It’s getting stuffy in there.” Another pair of footsteps follows him outside, and Finnick recognizes the voice immediately. Johanna smirks at him, her heels dangling off her wrists by the straps. “What is that?” she asks, eyeing his drink. Before waiting for an answer, she gulps it down. “Disgusting.”

Finnick laughs a little. “It’s bad, isn’t it? Too bitter for me.”

“That’s because you like that fruity shit.”

“What are you doing here, Johanna?” he asks after a pause. 

“I’m celebrating our victor, just like you are,” she replies with a sarcastic smile. A pause, then, “Who won again?”

“District Two.”

Johanna snorts. “Why am I not surprised?” Finnick doesn’t respond. He’s tired, from alcohol or performing, either one. Probably both. His role can be demanding and he’s susceptible to burnout at any given moment, but he doesn’t have the luxury of displaying that. “You look like shit,” Johanna announces. 

He sighs and sinks down to the floor so his back rests against the wall. “Tired,” he mumbles. His head lolls to the side and he makes no effort to hold it up. She sits beside him. 

Johanna sighs, then stands again. “Sleep here for a while. I’ll cover for you.”

Finnick’s head snaps up. “What are you doing?”

She peels off her clothes, and the dress pools around her ankles in heaps of silken fabric, leaving her nude. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m causing a scene. You sleeping out here and looking all sad won’t make the tabloids, now.”

“Thank you,” he says, his throat suddenly tight. 

“Someone has to do it,” she says, before walking back into the party. He lets their surprised shrieks lull him to sleep. 

* * *

Annie tells him that he’s not the same when he returns home from the Capitol. Finnick wouldn’t know; much of it is blurry and what little he does retain isn’t cohesive enough to tell him anything. 

He does, however, know that his first few days back are always confusing in what he should be doing. 

“You know,” Annie says one morning in the kitchen as Finnick examines a piece of toast. “You don’t have to do that here.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, dropping the toast back on the plate. 

_You don’t want to eat that, do you?_

He tries to ignore the voice, and it takes him a moment to realize that Annie had been speaking to him. “What?”

Annie’s gaze softened, and she wrapped her arms around him. “I love you.” Her hands trace his chest and stomach, finally settling on his heart. “Every part of you. Especially this.” His heart beats beneath her fingers, and Finnick doesn’t have to ask what she’s referring to. 

Tears prick in his eyes, but he doesn’t, or can’t, say anything.

“I’m here to remind you of that,” she continues. “As many times as you need.”

“Thank you,” Finnick says over the lump in his throat. She takes his hand carefully, intertwining their fingers.

“Want to go to the beach?” The question is light and Annie’s eyes shine brightly enough to make his heart clench. 

Finnick looks at her and smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was sad, I'm sorry. At least the ending was vaguely happy?
> 
> I've never explored this aspect of Finnick's trauma before, although I'm sure it's a very real thing given the circumstances in which he lives. I'm not sure I pulled this off exactly how I wanted to, this feels kind of messy to me? I don't know, but I'd love to hear your thoughts.
> 
> Thank you for reading. <3


End file.
